The Days in a Week
by nelliesbones
Summary: Random days in their lives, some sad, some hot, some not. Some plain ordinary. Moments that have been, could have been, will be. Spoilerfree. Will probably be M.
1. Monday

_Random days in their lives, some sad, some hot, some not. Some plain ordinary. Moments that have been, could have been, will be. _

THE DAYS IN A WEEK

I. Monday

Mondays... they are mean by nature. The weekend still fresh on your mind, they creep up on you with the noise of your alarm clock cutting into the silent clouds of your dream.

There was a man, his dark hair tousled, the bones in his arm creaking, as he outstretched it to hit the snooze button. For Seeley Booth there were Mondays and Mondays. Mondays he dreaded because they marked the end of a weekend with his son; precious Parker time. And Mondays when he woke up alone like today. Those weren't even that bad, they brought him closer to a weekend with his son.

This particular Monday stood for something else as well. Lying in bed, stealing some time of half slumber, half wake, Booth couldn't stop his drowsy mind from traveling to his partner. Dr. Temperance Brennan. Bones. Today she would be back from a dig.

They'd been doing this for years – dancing around each other like the two sole planets in a weird kind of pocket universe. Sometimes so close that one or both of them almost started to burn, so close that a collision seemed unavoidable. The result was always the same. Literally or metaphorically – she fled.

They had almost kissed. Before she had run this time, there had been this enchanted moment, and Booth simply knew that Brennan had felt it, too. Knew it with the same sincerity why he knew that it was Monday. He had seen the realization in her big eyes, had waited for acceptance to follow. However, she had broken the gaze, had stepped back. Her cheeks had been flushed, and Booth had felt her mind going a mile a minute, trying to rationalize it.

It had been easy, so damn easy that it had almost saddened him. A fundraiser event. Champagne. A midsummer night's balcony. Formal attire, exquisite perfume. Hell, even _he_ had been able to rationalize the moment; had been able to forget almost everything about it... everything but the dark silkiness of her curl twisted around his finger. It had been a gesture so utterly private but so them.

Two days later she had been gone.

The alarm rang again, and Booth hit the snooze button once more. He knew her flight number from the single email she had written, and even though she hadn't asked him to pick her up, Booth wondered why she had provided him with the information.

On a whim, he snapped his eyes open and threw one leg out of the bed. The wooden floor creaked along with his foot. He would pick her up from the airport; would look into her pale blue eyes and maybe... maybe he could finally forget the silky perfection of her hair. Maybe.

-BONES-

Brennan had lost track of time.

Maybe it was Monday. It didn't really matter, though, because to her it was all the same. Her days were made of work – only that the lab was quieter on Sundays. Rolling her head, she tried to banish the stiffness in her neck. There had been a time in her life when overnight flights hadn't bothered her that much.

She was on her way back home. In former times, "home" had described a place where her stuff was, an apartment with a bed waiting for her. Now... there was something else. Four weeks on a dig, four weeks under the burning sun hadn't been able to erase the memory of his breath on her face.

They had been so very close to crossing that line – again – and the line itself had been reduced to the fragility of a dewdrop.

It wasn't as if she didn't feel, on the contrary, she did. And that did pretty much sum up the problem. She simply didn't know what to do about it. Booth the partner, Booth the friend – they were safe ground. Booth the man however...

She had tried to forget the surreal moment they had shared, had looked into even darker eyes, had tried to surrender herself to the excitement of different hands on her. It hadn't worked. Worse, it had felt plain wrong. Had felt suspiciously like cheating.

Her ability to compartmentalize somehow lost, she hadn't been able to have sex with the dark stranger. And it had shaken her.

She was Dr. Temperance Brennan, and she wasn't committed to anybody else. Except for... that didn't feel true anymore.

It was Monday as real and merciless as they come. People were leaving their homes, the memory of morning coffee on their lips – the weekend a mere shadow on the corners of their minds – ready to go to work, to begin anew. Deals were made, milkshakes were shaken, school bells rang. Somewhere in a dark alley a dead body was found. A plane landed.

One man stood like a tower in the sea of people, his suit dark, his shirt freshly ironed, his cheeks smooth. The scent of aftershave and honor surrounded him. He was waiting for a woman and a sign.

Then he saw her. Wrinkled clothes, tired face, high ponytail.

Then she saw him, and for a brief moment she lost her rhythm.

Thirty steps later she was standing in front of him.

"Bones."

He looked at her, his name for her on his tongue, but her beautiful face was blank.

"Booth. Why are you here?"

To see you. To get an answer.

"To pick you up."

"I could have taken a cab."

"I know."

Silence settled over them, while they tested the boundaries of their stalemate.

"It's good to see you," she finally admitted on a whisper, and her tiny words gave him the courage to reach out to her, to tuck one loose curl behind her ear. As silky as he remembered it...

It was only the briefest touch, faint even, but she flinched at his unspoken tenderness. For the fraction of a second he saw a book full of emotions in the depths of her eyes, but then her guards were up again.

He had his answer.

Mondays... they are supposed to mark a beginning, but sometimes... sometimes they are just as cruel as the day after Christmas, as unfair as rain on the first day of your holidays.

However, there would always be a Tuesday to follow.

To be continued...

_Well, don't expect something monumental storytelling-wise. I just wanna play a little bit. And, of course, we all know how it works out in the end.__ Don't worry, "Becoming One" will be updated next. Just indulge me for a moment while I need to write about days._


	2. Tuesday

II. Tuesday

Tuesdays... they are predictable. They feel like the cookies you have baked so often that you don't have to look at the recipe anymore. The sharp edge of Monday has prepared you for yet another Tuesday, and deadlines are still far away on Friday.

Tuesday is a flow, and you know how to roll with it.

This early spring Tuesday had already brought closure. A case was solved; bones had gotten a name, grief a home.

Empathy found two partners staring into their drinks. The evening was dark while he was gaining comfort from her presence and vice versa.

"I couldn't do this without you," he finally said, twisting the heavy tumbler in his hand.

Her eyes found him, her gaze flowing over him like milk and honey.

"I know. My skills are crucial."

"No. I mean, yes, they are. But I was talking about you in general."

Not looking at her, he was surprised by the gentle touch of her hand on his.

"I'm always right beside you. What we do, our partnership... it's the most important thing."

"I don't know..."

His voice trailed off, while he gestured for one more drink, one more glasses of sweet oblivion. She waited patiently, but he could sense her confusion.

"It is important," he finally continued. "But the way I turn to you for comfort... How you soothe me with just one look... That's not a partner thing. It's just, I don't know, a you and me thing."

Honesty... it can be so dangerous, but sometimes it's impossible to settle for something less; even on a random Tuesday night when the March wind is whispering in the darkness. With a deep breath, she let her fingers trace his knuckles.

"I know that there is something else. I'm not... _that_ stupid. But I believe that, whatever it is, this _thing_... added to our partnership it makes us stronger while it could be quite dangerous in another context."

"You know that, at some point, we'd have to test that theory, don't you?"

His fingers curled around hers, capturing them for a moment, but no part of her wanted to pull back. He was right, expanding their boundaries was somehow inevitable... but it was not a Tuesday thing to do. Breathing the same air, feeling each other's warmth, sharing the same thoughts – it would be enough for the moment.

They finished their drinks as the night grew older, and comfort turned into silence, silence into tiredness.

"You wanna come home with me?" she asked after a while. "I can offer you the couch and a cup of coffee in the morning."

Rubbing his rough face with one palm, Booth pondered the dark silence of his place.

"Yeah..."

They shared a mood and a cab. The city's lifelines were almost empty at that time of the night; only the horn of an ambulance car startled them. Her apartment smelled like familiarity, and right before she could switch on the light, right before he could say anything, Booth pulled his partner into his arms.

A gentle tug at her cold hand; a small step towards her, and with a low sigh she let him hug her.

_Whenever I get scared..._

Tilting her head, Brennan rested her cheek on his shoulder; tilting his head, Booth pressed his stubbly cheek to her smooth forehead. He smelled like everything that had happened today.

His arms held her loosely around her waist, his thumbs drawing circles over her sides. Expensive fabric, and, somewhere underneath, something even more precious. He could feel her arms snaking around his back, her fingertips whispering over the curve of his spine.

Vertebrae and phalanges.

Clavicle and malar bone.

Brennan could name every single bone, every muscle, every sinew as well. She knew hormones, pheromones, neurotransmitters. However, in this stolen Tuesday night, she realized that her wisdom had hit a dead end. Bodies... she knew them, she knew them to bits and pieces. But nobody had ever taught her the bigger picture.

There was no textbook about the perfect fit of skin to skin, no words about the ridiculous peace of his breath so close to hers.

She felt a rush of weakness, as she buried her face in the crook of his neck, and his arms around her tightened. She was close, so very close to him, and the flame that flickered between them warmed her from the inside out; warmed him as well, and Booth took a deep breath that smelled like Tuesday's comfort and her. She was so pliant in his arms that her openness covered him like a fuzzy blanket. His fingers were still caressing her sides.

It would be easy, so very easy to slip his hands underneath the hem of her shirt, to travel over smooth skin. He knew that she wouldn't fight him, not today, but her words from earlier that night were still too fresh in his mind.

She wasn't ready to love him, and, truth be told, Booth didn't even know if he was ready himself. He did know, though, that he could never just sleep with Temperance Brennan without making love to her. His hand stayed over her shirt, and his mouth away from hers.

Because sometimes... sometimes doing nothing at all means something as well.

Tuesdays – as predictable as they are, sometimes they manage to surprise you, manage to reduce everything in your life to one moment of holding onto... something. Someone.

To be continued...


	3. Wednesday

III. Wednesday

On Wednesday you're almost on top of the hill, rolling towards the weekend. If Tuesdays are ordinary, Wednesdays are so lackluster that there isn't even a special word for them. Wednesdays can be sunny or cloudy, nice or boring – but they are rarely memorable.

This particular Wednesday found two crime-solving partners on a lonesome rural road in the middle of nowhere. The evidence of last week's blizzard could still be seen on the snow-covered street, and every sound seemed to be dampened by the white mass.

Still, even in the middle of nowhere human remains could be discovered, and Booth had spent the better part of the afternoon fidgeting on frozen feet, while his brilliant partner had been hovering over a skeleton, oblivious to the cold, him and the rest of the world.

Impervious... that was the word she had used a week ago, and he couldn't help but notice that Temperance Brennan was most definitely impervious when it came to hostile weather conditions.

"This was a waste of time," he finally complained, but it was barely a murmur.

Her head flung around.

"Our work is never a waste of time."

"Come on, you know what I mean. Took you five minutes to notice that it had been an accident. Still, you hovered over it for two more hours."

"I did not 'hover'. Besides, every family should get a chance to learn about the fate of their deceased ones. I've learned that from you."

He gave her a careful glance.

"Are you using my own logic on me?"

"Only when your logic is actually logical."

Unable to suppress a faint smile, he focused on the road ahead, but she saw it nonetheless. She had become good, so very good at sensing his mood. Rubbing her hands, she tried to revive the cold limbs.

Things had been... different – for a lack of a better word – ever since they had been trapped in that elevator. It was as if acknowledging the attraction, the possibilities had made it real somehow, and a strange, comfortable calmness had settled over the two partners. They had written a date, and she didn't know what he had written, although she harbored the suspicion that _he_ had peeked, but the date itself wasn't even important. The important part was... that they had written one at all.

One day he might be hers, and she might be his... and in between they would do their job, examine remains, chase murderers, share coffees, drinks, meals.

"Do you wanna do paperwork tonight?" she finally asked.

"I don't know. Is there already paperwork to do?"

He sounded honestly clueless, and she changed tack.

"Or we could order Thai food. Watch a movie."

"You don't have a TV."

"I've bought one."

"You have?"

He arched one eyebrow, and she could hear his question. Felt the answers. Distraction while you were busy going home to your girlfriend at the end of the day. Desire to get the one or other pop culture reference. Hope that we might actually watch something together some day. None of that could be put into words, though, so Brennan awaited his answer in silence.

"Sure, then."

Something inside of her fluttered, even though it was just a harmless movie date.

Something inside of him shifted, even though she had offered him nothing more than an evening on her couch.

Around them, the ice was melting, revealing muddy spots and the gray of the street. And they were rolling forward. Sunrays peeked through thick clouds, giving the one or other glimpse of blue sky. It was Wednesday, and the bleakness of the blizzard almost forgotten.

The lab was deserted, when they arrived, locking away the evidence, and half an hour later they were on the road again, heading towards her apartment. One more stop at their favorite take-out place, and the scent of basmati rice and spices mingled with the silence of her apartment, as she opened the door.

And they ate. Shared bites of food and laughter. Familiarity, friendship, as well-worn as an old blanket, the favorite one, the cozy one. The movie, an old Hitchcock, accompanied their evening, but after an hour, her comments stopped.

She had fallen asleep next to him, just like that. Her face was scrubbed clean, her hair like a dark curtain of silk on the pale gray of her sweatshirt. The movie was just like it had been minutes ago, brilliant, captivating, but suddenly Booth couldn't pay attention anymore. Shifting on the couch, he tugged at her arm, and with a murmur she followed his pull, nestling up to him.

A breath, deep, and another one. Without the guard of the day, he allowed himself to study her. Wrinkles around her closed eyes which hadn't been there when they had first met. Her bangs, still unfamiliar because she had come back wearing them when he had felt so separated from her. Her skin, so fair, so tender. Eyelashes so long that his fingers itched with the urge to brush them. He didn't do it, though, he just watched her.

Her breaths came strong and even, her head was warm and heavy on his shoulder.

"Bones?" he whispered softly, but only a little snore was his answer. He smiled.

"Only you can fall asleep during a Hitchcock classic. Maybe you're an alien after all."

On the TV screen, Marnie screamed for her mother. On the couch, Booth dared to tuck a few loose strands behind her ear.

"I think I could stop talking since you don't even hear me, but... thanks, Bones. For being there for me. I know that the last months haven't been easy. You know, I've never forgotten your tears. How could I? That night... be sure... I know that I did wrong. But I didn't have a choice. Not a real one."

His silence covered her sleep, as he thought about one night in the rain and her tears of regret.

"I mean, there you were, telling me about the universe speaking. Me, Bones, _me_. I've told you that I _knew_. Always. But that didn't matter. And what did you really offer me? Then... Hannah was gone."

She moved next to him but didn't raise.

"And here we are. You, me, Thai food."

Her lips twitched in sleep, and something inside of him ached at the sight of her so childlike, so innocent.

"I'm not angry anymore," he whispered while looking at her sleeping face. "You're the cutest, sweetest thing I've ever seen. Nothing inside of me is angry."

Tilting his head, he rested it atop of hers, and one brave arm snaked around her shoulder, holding her in a safe embrace. He should probably go home, just cover her with a blanket and leave, but the movie wasn't finished, yet, and she had invited him to watch it with her. His lips found her temple, kissing it once, twice, and then she stirred in his arms.

"Booth?"

"Hm-hmm?"

"I've missed the end of the movie."

"It's not finished, yet."

"I might miss the end of the movie, then."

He smiled at her slurred speech.

"'s okay. I'll tell you."

Her nose burrowed into the fabric of his shirt.

"Okay."

-BONES-

It was Wednesday, and there would be a Thursday... and maybe this one Thursday morning would find a man and a woman on a couch, not undressed but helplessly entangled in each other. He might look at her with unfocused brown eyes, and she might give him that kind of smile which is full of early morning beauty and innocence. That kind of smile which comes close to a promise.

Never believe what they say about the ordinariness of Wednesdays.

To be continued...


	4. Thursday

_Let's just assume they didn't have comfort sex that night._

IV. Thursday

Thursdays are special. The weekend is already a promising whisper that can be heard, ready to embrace you with peace after a long week full of work. On Thursday you are used to the sound of your alarm clock, you're used to the bitter taste of crappy office coffee once again. Maybe there are parties in the evening, or you're looking forward to your favorite TV show which will carry you through Friday with a smile on your lips. You're fond of Thursdays.

But... sometimes... you just have to forget everything you know about Thursdays or life itself might break you. One can die on a Thursday, take a last breath filled with the metallic taste of blood, hit by a bullet that wasn't even meant for them. And – somewhere between breakfast and dinner – the world as you knew it might not exist anymore.

You shouldn't be shaken on Thursdays... but, sadly, Thursdays are oblivious to that.

Temperance Brennan didn't care about Thursdays. Or any other day. A few years ago she had cared even less, but people had invaded her life, ripped open her shell, and this Thursday night found her on a familiar but foreign couch, the gray sweatshirt way too big for her slender frame. Her head hurt from crying, and she felt lonely even though she wasn't alone. Only a door separated her from her partner. A door, a line, a piece of paper – handmade obstacles which had once provided her with a feeling of safety, but... not tonight. Tonight she wished that there wasn't a door or anything else in between them.

She had learned to turn to him for comfort, and it had been a hard lesson, but lying on his couch, curled up like a fetus under his spare blanket, she felt as if something inside of her was shattered, something only he could fix again. If only she could see his reassuring eyes, listen to his calm voice. If only he had never closed that door.

Dwelling on her misery, Brennan snuffled into the pillow that smelled like him, and suddenly a thought crossed her mind. Doors... they have two purposes. They can be closed... and they can be opened. And she needed to see him.

His ranger reflexes startled her, but only briefly. The first things she could notice – and maybe it was a very strange case of selective perception – were his socks. Funny, Boothy-striped socks, and for the fraction of a second it was oddly soothing that even in darkest despair some things never change. Did he always sleep in socks? Brennan didn't know. Despite the million different things she knew about this man, there were still so many secrets, and it was her own fault.

Her eyes spilled over, as she tried to talk, but his gaze anchored her somehow. He focused solely on her, and he was so solid, so strong. She trusted him to know the answer because, when it came to people, Booth always knew the answers.

_What kind of person am I?_

His heart clenched at her chocked question. How could he ever tell her? She was soft and strong. Passionate, warmhearted, caring. Beautiful... so beautiful, even in his old clothes and with tears running down her pale cheeks. How could he not tell her?

He wanted to take the pain away from her, but Booth knew that it didn't work that way because love and pain, they come in pairs. He knew a lot about that.

_Can you just...?_

She was lost, so lost. Everything hurt, and she couldn't take it anymore, but then his arms closed around her, maybe a tad too strong, and his chest became her pillow. And here, in his safe embrace, every ounce of strength she had been able to muster left her once and for all, and all that was left were tears.

Her body quaked in his arms, desperately, violently, and Booth rubbed his palm over her shirt-clad shoulder. She was cold, way too cold, and he freed one arm briefly to reach for the blanket, to cover them both with the extra layer of warmth and comfort.

His soft murmurs and caresses never stopped, but after minutes or hours her sobs subsided. Brennan could feel dampness where her tears had soaked his T-shirt, but, underneath, there was something else, steady and reassuring, and she allowed herself to take comfort in the strong thumping of his heart. She had never been held like this, she had never allowed anyone to see this side of her before. Once, in another time, when Booth had been dead, she had locked herself in her apartment for three days in a row and she had ignored the ringing of her phone and the knocks on the door. She had refused hugs or words of comfort. There had only been pain... she _had been_ pain. Tonight was different. It still hurt like hell, but he had taken the burden from her. She was beyond broken, but he was still there.

"Booth..."

Her voice faltered, and she coughed.

"Booth, I... I can manage now. Thanks for holding me. I'm ready to go back now."

"Forget it."

His voice was rough but soft at the same time.

"You need to sleep. You have to find Broadsky."

Her logic was flawless as always, but he couldn't bring himself to loosen his hold on her body, so he just pulled her tighter into his arms. With a sigh, she burrowed her face in his shirt.

"You're not going anywhere."

"Booth..."

"Bones, do you want to go back?"

His living-room. The couch. Stillness. Loneliness.

His bed. His heartbeat. Warmth. Comfort.

"No," she admitted on a whisper.

"Please stay," he murmured into her hair. "I don't want you to be alone. _I_ don't want to be alone either."

She relaxed in his arms, and he shifted her until her smooth cheek was pressed against his stubbly one.

"Bones?"

"Yes?"

"I know what kind of person you are. I... I'm in awe of the kind of person you are. There's nothing wrong with you. Nothing."

She could feel fresh tears pricking behind her eyelids, as a rush of tenderness and vulnerability overwhelmed her.

"I've never told him how much he meant to me."

"He knew it."

"Still, Angela always says that it is important to tell."

"It is good to tell, but feeling itself is the really important part."

"Booth..."

She snuffled again, and the childlike sound hit him deeply.

"You know that I feel, don't you?"

Her tentative voice was just as touching as her former tears.

"Yes, I know."

"For you..."

"I know."

"It could have been you."

His hold on her tightened until it almost suffocated her, but she welcomed the different kind of pain.

"Or you," he stated darkly.

Her arms came around his body, clutching him, and then his lips were pressed to her salty cheek. Tilting her head, she returned she gesture, feeling his rough stubble underneath her sensitive lips. Being with him like this felt so real, so right.

His breath came close to her ear, as he nuzzled the soft skin of her neck, and one of her hands found its way to his cheek, stroking gently. With a sigh, he leaned into her touch, as if seeking her comfort as well, and suddenly Brennan realized that, despite her impressive number of former sexual partners, she had never been so close to another human being before.

And when she cupped his cheek, when she lifted her head to meet his lips in a soft kiss, she knew that, never again, she wanted to live in a world where she couldn't kiss him. He gasped, surprised by her action and by her incredible softness, but all he could do, all he wanted to do was hold on to her and being kissed like this forever. His lips parted, gently, and her tongue slipped into his mouth in one intimate move that changed everything.

He had kissed her before and he had been kissed by her before, but this time there was no pretext, no excuse. And when she broke the kiss to search his eyes, he reached for her anew, found her responsive mouth again, and this was new. They had shared a few first kisses, but never a second one, and this second kiss allowed him to hope.

She was so sweet, everything about her was so sweet. The way she tasted, the soft noises she made, the way her body nuzzled up to his, and the thought that he might have lost her today hurt even more than the sad reality of the day itself.

His traitorous body began to react to her closeness, to the gentle touch of her hands, and he tore his lips away from hers, panting. When he looked at her again in the dim night light, he found her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, tracing her face with one gentle finger, and she almost blushed.

"Booth..."

"No, you are."

Her body was aching, demanding more of his kisses and even more of him, but the part of her that vibrated the most was somewhere in her chest. That was new as well. She gave him a fragile smile, and one of her hands slipped under his shirt on a will of its own, finding smooth and warm skin over firm muscles. He sucked in a breath.

"Bones... No..."

It wasn't the hardest thing he had ever done, but this moment came close to crushing her hopes during that night in the rain. She retreated immediately.

"I understand."

His hand found hers, clasping it.

"No, you don't."

The woman she had been would have run, but she had changed, _he_ had changed her, and she trusted him more than anybody else in this world. She wanted to understand. Needed to.

"Don't you... don't you want me?"

He laughed brief and humorless.

"You have no idea how much I want you. How much I've always wanted you."

"Then... why? Anthropologically speaking-"

"No," he cut her off. "Don't tell me that it is normal to engage in sexual intercourse to deal with grief. To embrace life. Bones, you and me... We are so much more than this. You're so important to me. I want to feel you. God, I want to feel you so much."

"I want to feel you as well, Booth."

"But not in tears. I want you to be happy. I want to hear you laughing. I want this to be about us."

His mouth slanted down on hers, kissing away her insecurities, kissing away almost everything.

"You're so precious," he whispered against her lips, and she responded without as much as a second of hesitation.

"As are you."

"There will be tomorrow."

"Yes."

-BONES-

He was as raw as she was, as they hovered somewhere between wake and sleep, between the past's stalemate and the future's possibilities, between Thursday and Friday. Eventually, sleep overcame them, marking the end of a day that had been blood, had been loss, had been kisses. Had been way too much one could ever bear on a single Thursday.

To be continued...


	5. Friday

_This is M._

V. Friday

On Friday, you're the king. The sun is always a little bit brighter, raspberries somehow sweeter, work easier. Maybe a long evening fully of laziness on the couch awaits you, maybe some hours with laughter, friends and love. You don't have to cast glances at your watch because at the end of the night there's nothing but Saturday's bliss waiting for you.

Fridays are great in general, but some Fridays are even better than others. Seeley Booth had been kissing Temperance Brennan for one week and one day. The previous week had taken a toll on them, and the scars were still fresh, did still hurt, but they had found more than comfort in each other.

One week ago, she had awoken in his arms for the very first time.

_So, you're afraid when I look at you in the morning, I'll have regrets? _

_That would never happen. _

Their words from so many years ago had come back, and, looking at her sleeping face, Booth had known that she had been right back then. His heart had been heavy, but regrets? Would never happen.

They hadn't shared a bed again after that night, and he had yet to see her naked, but there had been kisses. In his car at the end of the day. In the cinema. And once a stolen one in her office. Booth loved to kiss her, he loved just everything about it. Kissing her had always rendered him speechless, but now they laughed between kisses, and when they broke apart, he knew that she wouldn't kick him if he dove in for another one. He had become intimately familiar with the silky texture of her hair under his palms, with her weight in his arms, her soft lips on his.

And now it was Friday again, and tonight they were supposed to meet the whole squint squad in a club. It had been Angela's idea, going out, let loose, and only Cam had been brave enough to question the wisdom of dancing at this stage of a pregnancy. The artist had waved her off, and nobody had dared to make another comment.

Booth was looking forward to tonight; after all, it was Friday, and he had been kissing Brennan for one week and one day.

-BONES-

The club was crowded but tasteful, and when Booth walked in around 9 pm, everyone but Brennan was already seated around a table in the corner. Angela waved enthusiastically, and Booth approached them with a smile.

"Sorry, I'm late. Work."

Cam gestured at the already half-empty bottle of tequila on the table.

"You just have to catch up with us."

"Tequila?"

"Hell yes," Hodgins jumped in, filling another round of glasses, only skipping Angela. "Sorry, Baby," he added with a smile, but she just shrugged.

"I'll get drunk vicariously through you tonight."

Booth's eyes wandered over the crowd, apparently not as inconspicuous as intended because Angela poked his ribcage.

"Brennan's running late as well, but she texted me that she will come."

"I wasn't..."

Angela smirked.

"I was just providing you with the information."

"Uh... thanks, then."

"Okay, here we go."

Hodgins had already raised his glass, and Cam, Sweets, Daisy, Wendell and Clark followed his lead. After a moment of hesitation, Booth gave in, reaching for his shot.

"To us."

"To life."

"To Vincent."

"Oh, wow, to Dr. Brennan."

The tequila was already running down Booth's throat, as Wendell uttered his toast, but as soon as the burning had stopped, Booth turned his head as well, and instantly the world started to spin in a way that had nothing to do with the booze.

There she was. Her mahogany hair was pinned up, exposing the long curve of her neck, and she was wearing a simple black dress which hugged her body like a second skin. Long legs ended in high heels, and her outfit was completed by the natural aura of elegance that surrounded her, which was so very much her.

He had seen her in dresses before, but not in the last week. Not since he was allowed to kiss her.

Brennan hadn't spotted them, yet, but then her head turned around, and her blue eyes met his intensive gaze. The room vanished, and something crackled in the air between them, as Brennan sashayed in the direction of her friends. Booth heard Cam's whistle next to him, but he couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes away from Brennan, he even turned around on his stool to watch her approach. Then she was beside him.

"Hi," she breathed, and her husky voice sent shivers down his spine. He swallowed hard.

"Brenn, you look beautiful! I can't wait for the day when I'll fit into a dress like that again," Angela sighed, and next to her Hodgins took his wife's hand, kissing it.

"You look gorgeous, Angie."

"Aw, thanks."

"Wow, Dr. Brennan."

That came from Wendell – or maybe it was Sweets, Booth couldn't really pay attention.

"So, tequila?"

"Yes. You're in, Dr. Brennan?"

"I hadn't had tequila... in a while."

Brennan's eyes met Booth's again, and he knew exactly what she was talking about. With a smile, he patted the free seat next to him.

"Join us."

"Absolutely."

One more round of shots was poured and downed, followed by another one. The alcohol had made her stomach warm, and every fiber of Brennan was aware of the man sitting next to her. Finally, when everybody seemed to be engaged in a conversation, he turned to her, whispering,

"You look absolutely breathtaking."

His words tingled down her skin, and she tilted her head until her cheek touched his lips.

"That was the plan."

"You dressed up for Sweets, then?" he smirked, but for once she met his teasing with simple honesty.

"No, just for you."

His hand found hers under the table, and fingers intertwined for one luxurious moment.

"You know... we could share a cab tonight," she whispered.

"Despite the tequila?"

She laughed huskily, and the sound alerted the others.

"Care to share?" Hodgins asked, his speech already slurred.

"No," Brennan just answered, and Cam erupted in giggles at this Brennan-like response.

Angela clapped her hands.

"Okay, one more round, and then I want to dance."

"Angela, you really shouldn't engage in dancing anymore."

Angela looked at her best friend and pouted before she gave in with a sigh.

"Okay, fine, but then you have to dance so I can watch you."

"I can do that."

"With a hot man, of course."

"I can do that as well."

"Bones!"

"Booth qualifies as a 'hot man', right, Ange?"

"Absolutely."

"Will you dance with me, Booth?"

He reached for his glass, downed it and grabbed her hand.

"Let's go."

In theory, dancing was a good idea. It meant holding her, being able to talk in private with her, but as her warm body pressed against his own, Booth reconsidered the wisdom of it. Maybe dancing was a very bad idea with seven pairs of curious eyes watching them. But then her arms wrapped themselves around his neck, and he officially didn't care anymore.

She moved to the music as if she was the music, and every gentle sway of her hips brought her even closer to him, every step she made was guided by his own. They danced like they worked, like they argued, like they were; as always in perfect unison despite their differences.

One of his arms rested on her lower back, his thumb drawing circles over satin – was it satin? – and his other hand cupped her nape in a gesture that was far too private, far too possessive for this dance. She sighed contently.

"You're a good dancer."

"We just match."

"Do you think they're watching us? I find that I'd like to kiss you very much."

"I think they might even be filming us."

Lifting her head, Brennan risked a glance.

"No cameras. But Angela looks very happy."

"Bones... I'd like to kiss you very much as well."

"You know, I meant what I said earlier. Let's share a cab. Come home with me tonight."

She could feel his accelerated heartbeat underneath her cheek, and one hand left its place on his neck, and she pressed it softly against his chest.

"You want that?"

He just had to ask.

Yes, she did want that, and there had been a time when she had been too afraid to admit it, but she wasn't that woman anymore.

"Yes."

He pressed a deep breath into her hair.

"I want to go home with you."

The music sped up, and, following the rhythm, Booth whirled her around, marveling at her laughter, at her beaming face. They danced wordlessly for a while, and soon both of them were breathless.

"You wanna go back?" he asked on a gasp, his fingers stroking her knuckles.

"Not really. But I guess we have to go back at some point."

"Let's just have a few more shots, pretend drunkenness and go home."

"Sounds great."

Back at the table, they were met with big grins but conspicuous silence. Neither Booth nor Brennan cared, and an hour later it turned out that drunkenness didn't have to be faked, at least not on Daisy's, Hodgins' and Cam's part.

Angela tucked her husband into her Mini, and Cam, Clark and Wendell squeezed themselves into the backseat. Sweets half-carried, half-dragged Daisy into the first cab, while Booth and Brennan waited for another one. One last wave, another goodbye, and they were finally alone.

Booth wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and she shivered.

"You cold?"

"No."

"Nervous?"

"Maybe a little."

He tapped her chin, searching her eyes.

"Hey, it's just me."

"Yes, it's _you_."

Finally, after another glance around, his lips slanted down on hers, gently, promising.

"I might be nervous as well," he admitted, and she smiled almost shyly.

"We match again."

They had never shared a cab before. Maybe it was just because it hadn't been practical, maybe it was because ever since that very first night in the rain a cab meant something – whatever it was, tonight it was practical _and_ it meant something. In the dark backseat, Booth cupped her cheek, and he kissed her again. Her lips parted under his, her tongue tracing his bottom lip before sliding home, finding salt, tequila, lemon and him.

Brennan's hand clasped his on her face, holding him in place, and she kissed him with eyes closed and heart wide open, she kissed him until everything was warm, until the throat-clearing of the driver and the lack of motion finally sunk in.

They were home.

-BONES-

She had opened her door for Booth before, but she had never done it with him peppering soft kisses all over her neck. She had never done it with shaking hands and weak knees.

They didn't turn on the light, but her apartment was illuminated by moonshine and the city's night lights, and in the silvery darkness, he turned her around to remove the pins out of her hair until it cascaded freely onto her shoulders. His palms reconnected with the familiar silkiness, his fingers raked through the disheveled tresses until she almost purred.

She was Dr. Temperance Brennan. She was brilliant, extraordinary, strong, beautiful. And he could make her purr.

His arms closed around her from behind, swaying her gently as if there was still music playing, and she leaned into his embrace, her hands folding over his on her belly.

"I love you," he whispered into her hair and the darkness, and in his arms she went very still, as she took a deep breath.

"I love you, too. So much," she finally answered, and he squeezed her almost roughly.

"Booth... the date we've set..."

"It's now."

It was Friday, when he scooped her up in his arms, and even though it was an archaic display of alpha maleness, she didn't protest. It was Friday, when he placed her in the middle of her bed, not to comfort her, not to tuck her in, but to join her like man would join a woman.

He kissed her slowly, reverently, until Brennan remembered that she was a 21st century woman, rolling them around with strength that shouldn't have surprised him so that she was sprawled out over him.

His hand slid down her side over satin – it was satin – and skin that felt even softer, and in one swift move he tugged the dress over her head. Her skin was like alabaster in the moonlight, her underwear as midnight black as the dress had been, and she rewarded him with a breathless laugh, as he pulled her down to capture her lips anew.

"I believe one of us is overdressed."

"You're right," he stated playfully, before his hands found the clasp of her bra, opening it, and then he could neither tease nor talk anymore, as he saw her breasts for the very first time.

They were _her_ breasts, and that would have made them perfect in general, but the sheer sight of her uncovered beauty took his breath away. Milky-white, dusky pink, round, firm, soft.

"Oh, Bones..."

The awe on his face left her speechless, but then she grazed his cheek in a tender gesture.

"I wanna see you as well, Booth."

"Yes."

Clothes were shed, barriers removed, and then it was her turn to marvel at the perfect structure of him. She had seen him like this before, but tonight it was different because he wanted her to see him. He wanted her to touch him. And touch him she did. Her mind barely registered that he rolled them around anew, but her body responded to his weight on top of her, and her legs widened automatically to accommodate him.

There was heat inside of her, spreading from her belly to her cheeks and even her distal phalanges, and when she curled herself around him, Brennan didn't even know if it was still sex or something else entirely.

'It's love, stupid,' a voice inside of her whispered. 'He has always told you so, and that's it.'

He made her gasp, as his hands and lips explored her body, fondling her breasts, her belly, her thighs, and then he touched her intimately for the very first time. He was gentler than a man had ever been with her, but everything inside of her responded to him, and when two of his fingers dipped into her, her eyes flew open, almost burning him with their intensity.

"You're perfect," he murmured, all the while stroking her.

Her very own scent surrounded him, intoxicated him, and he bit the soft flesh on the inside of her thigh, marking her. She gasped and squirmed underneath him, and he soothed the pain with his tongue.

"Sorry."

"No, don't apologize," she managed to say, but then it was almost too much, and she tugged at his head, eager to feel him as well.

Her hands ran over warm skin and down his belly, meeting wiry curls and the heat of his arousal. He groaned, as she wrapped her palm around his hard length, and his head fell into the crook of her neck. Power... she felt power and weakness all at once – how could that even be possible? – but when his breaths got unsteady, she forgot to wonder and surrendered herself to the sensations.

Turning his head, Booth tried to kiss her, but unable to reach her lips, he settled for the tender skin of her neck.

"Bones," he whispered, and his name for her was new but intimately familiar at the same time.

"Please," she answered, releasing him with a last gentle squeeze, encouraging him to join them.

His lips met hers, as he cupped the inside of her thigh in the softest request ever, and, without hesitation, her knees fell apart. Permission granted.

She kissed him, and it was Friday, and he kissed her, and it was Friday... and then he shifted his weight, and with one long stroke he entered her for the first time. Her eyes snapped open, meeting his with astonishment, and she was snug and warm and tight and perfect and his. So his.

"You're mine," he growled, and her muscles clenched briefly around him.

"Yes."

Long legs wrapped around his back, calves caressing his skin, and then she pulled him even deeper into her body, evoking a sharp gasp.

"But you're mine as well," she added.

His hands found hers on the mattress, clasping them almost desperately, and, joined like this, he started to move. He wanted it slow, he wanted it tender, he wanted to stay like this forever, but, apparently, she had another plan, meeting every one of his thrusts with urge, arching into him, forcing him to go faster, deeper, harder until he lost himself and everything else.

"I love you," he whispered into her mouth, and she bit his lower lip gently.

"Yes, yes."

Her brow was furrowed, covered with a fine layer of sweat, and she looked so achingly beautiful that it would have hurt if anything had been able to hurt right now. Tension was building deep in his body, but he obeyed her call and sunk into her over and over again.

Warmth. Wetness. Home. Her.

Suddenly something was different, her grip on his hands tightened, and, with a gasp, she started to shudder beneath him.

"Yes, Baby, come," he panted into her mouth, kissing her hard, as he thrust into her with full force, and her cry was his answer.

It was the last thing he heard, before his mind went blank, before he found his very own abyss, tumbling into it with her.

-BONES-

It was Friday, as a man and a woman lay in entangled sheets, moonlight cooling their overheated bodies. Her fingers drew lazy patterns over his stomach, and his own arm held her firmly tucked into his side.

It was the best Friday in the history of Fridays.

To be continued...


	6. Holidays

_Just because I love holidays._

VI. Holiday(s)

There are days you cannot grasp within the boundaries of time. You cannot label them like all the others because they are unlike anything you know. Can you hear the whisper of the sea; can you feel the caress of the sun? It might be Saturday or maybe even Monday, but for once you don't care and names are just as ephemeral as the next blink of your eye.

They are called holidays, and they might find you in a faraway kingdom by the sea, the sound of foreign tongues and birds in the air.

Once he had told her that he always harbors the idea of not coming back. She had barely known him back then, let alone understood him. Now she did.

Her belly was four months old, a curve as soft as the blurry mountain line above the water, dusky pink in the early evening light (the mountain line, not her belly), and Temperance Brennan and Seeley Booth were on holidays.

Purposeless. Romantic. Sunny.

Cobblestones underneath their feet, the thick walls of the ancient city cradling them, the water as clear and deep as her heart. As corny as the simile might be, these days, Temperance Brennan wasn't offended that easily by sudden outbursts of romance.

They had arrived the other day; he had carried their luggage, she had carried their unborn child.

Their child.

A child that didn't make any sense; that had stubbornly nestled himself (or herself?) into her body. A child that had taken the first chance offered.

Holidays suited her. It was so unlike her, a white summer dress waving around her knees, her hair lighter in the sun, a shade of pink covering her nose. You could barely tell that she was pregnant, but he who knew noticed the changes. Her hips just a tad wider, a certain heaviness in her breasts, a glow on her face. Pregnancy – it suited her as well.

Booth counted it as a personal victory that he had been able to talk her into this trip – granted, Angela had been helpful – but now that they were here, Brennan seemed to enjoy herself. They had come a long way, in every sense of the word, and they were nowhere near the finish line, yet. But for once they were moving on together, heading in the same direction, matching their pace.

What they had was precious, and it had created something even more precious. She had been shocked; he had been drunken with happiness. They had met somewhere in the middle. There were still some more months before the unknown variable would be added to their center, maybe shifting it, and both of them embraced this time. And now... they were on holidays.

-BONES-

In the morning, right before the first sunrays tickled the old town, right when the little fishing boats headed towards the open sea, Brennan awoke. Booth was sprawled out next to her, as always occupying more than his half of the bed, and his smooth skin was already enviably tanned.

Her eyes followed the frame of his narrow hips under the thin sheet up his spine to his head. Tousled dark hair, his face free of worry lines, his mouth slightly open in slumber, and... was he actually drooling?

He chose that moment to let go of a snore, and she watched him with a bemused but loving grin. Like always when she saw him asleep, a tender wave of belonging rushed through her, and even though, scientifically speaking, she couldn't be sure, Brennan just knew that the emotions were evoked by more than just pregnancy hormones.

Back in Maluku, she had realized that she might love her partner. During a heart-crushing night in the rain, she had been sure. Right now, she was beyond loving him. Hodgins had called it "over the moon and stupid in love" once, and, finally, she knew exactly what he had been talking about.

The color of the sky in front of the window told her that it was still early, but Brennan felt oddly energized; it was one of the things pregnancy did to her. So far, she felt great, and she was still able to sleep on her stomach. Part of her dreaded the day when it wouldn't be possible anymore.

One more smile, and she slipped away from the sleeping man next to her to take an early morning shower. The water cascaded down her curved body, her shoulders more red than actually tanned, and she hummed contently. In the other room, her lack of presence or the rushing water had woken Booth up, and Brennan shrieked briefly, when someone invaded her shower. She relaxed immediately, though, and his warm arms snaked around her slippery body.

"Good morning."

He touched her wet lips with a soft kiss.

"Hmm... good morning yourself. Did I wake you up?"

"Nah. You were just gone. Please tell me that our kid won't be an early bird."

"I can assure you that our child won't be a bird, but infants tend to-"

He silenced her with another kiss.

"Nevermind."

Taking the shower gel out of her hand, Booth began lathering her. His knowledge of her body was four months old, and not one day had passed when he hadn't been stunned all over again by her softness, her beauty. Sometimes, he found it hard to believe that she was his – truly, finally – but she never flinched when he touched her, literally or emotionally, always leaned into him.

Returning the gesture, Brennan reached for his shampoo, squeezing a generous amount into her palm, and soon her fingers were raking through his wet and spiky hair, completely captivated by the content hum that left his throat, by the way his eyes fell shut under her caress. He might be oblivious to it, but, between the two of them, Booth wasn't the only one dazzled by the other's beauty – had never been.

His pursed lips fell to her shoulder, dropping a tiny kiss onto tender skin.

"You're gorgeous," he murmured, and she smiled even wider.

"You're quite gorgeous yourself."

"Wanna try that little café around the corner for breakfast?"

"Sure."

Today's dress had yellow stripes, her shoes were flat, her hair damp and open. He wore jeans and a simple white shirt, more buttons undone than usually. The sun was at home and the scent of the ocean just a few streets away. It was almost too beautiful to be true, but it was real.

They were on holidays.

-BONES-

Between sunrise and sunset, there were a million wonderful things to explore, and in the evening, right after the sun had made its exit with various shades of orange and pink, the mood shifted, as the city prepared itself for the night.

The narrow streets were full of music and the scent of grilled fish – mouthwatering for him, almost regretful for her. However, grilled vegetables and roasted garlic bread were delicious as well, and, just because it seemed fair, he dismissed the beer and settled on water.

"How's your eggplant?"

"Interesting. I believe they added lemon to their olive oil."

"You're sure you don't wanna try my fish?"

Brennan ogled his plate and shuddered.

"Even though it smells quite tasty, it looks at me."

He shrugged, and they ate in silence for a while.

"I'm glad we came," he finally said, playing with her fingers in that absentminded way she had gotten accustomed to.

"Me too. Thanks for having been persistent."

He gave her one of his lopsided smiles.

"Always."

"I think I understand now what you have been talking about all those years ago. Thinking about not going back."

He looked at her with an oddly serious expression on his face.

"I don't know... for once I don't mind going back. My life is pretty damn perfect right now."

The way he looked at her created a strange tingling sensation in her stomach.

"You mean us?"

"Yes. You, me, the baby. And you."

"You mentioned me twice."

"I could mention you a few more times."

"So... I make your life... good?"

"Perfect, Bones. I think the word I used was 'perfect'."

"Despite my inability to understand your enthusiasm for sportscasts?"

"Even despite your habit to order peppers by color."

"I can be quite self-absorbed."

"You bought this massage thing for my back. You even changed your toothpaste for me."

"I doesn't make sense to buy two different brands, and you are quite grumpy without the red stripes."

"See? You're great. Perfect."

"You're pleased easily."

"Only by you."

"Your argument is invalid."

"Potato, patato."

"And what does that even mean?"

He grinned brightly.

"You're cute."

"Are you making fun of me?"

She was looking at him with big blue eyes, her hair a sea-wind-tousled mess of curls, and he fell in love with her all over again.

"Only a little bit. Sorry."

"How am I supposed to get your romantic implications when you mix compliments with jokes all the time?"

Bending over, he kissed her hand which was still in his own.

"Just roll with it."

They roamed the streets after dinner, aimlessly, peacefully, and even without the sun to shine on them, it was still warm. Booth wrapped his arm around her shoulder as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

And guess what?

It was.

Not only because they were on holidays.

To be continued...


End file.
